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I was most surprised to learn that Eleanor and I were of a similar age. In fact, she was almost a year older, even though she appeared so much younger. The life I had led had imbued me with experiences most women my age would never have. Fortunately for them.
“Your gown is beautiful,” Eleanor told me shyly, eying the shimmering bronze folds with admiration.
“Beautiful maybe, but not very practical for this climate,” I replied ruefully. I was surprised my bare arms and shoulders were not blue and goose-bumped with cold. “Your dress is so much more suitable.”
It was the ideal opening gambit in a conversation between two lovers of fashion, and one that we continued over dinner. It ended with a proposed visit to Lucy’s dressmaker in Port Isaac on the following day. In the meantime, Eleanor dashed off to her room and brought back a shawl for me to wear. Until that night, I could never have imagined myself feeling gratitude and affection toward such an unglamorous item of clothing.
The dining room was a long, elegant apartment that ran the length of one wing of the building. Wide French windows gave a breathtaking view over the soaring cliff top. Lucy explained that the dining room in the old castle had been a dark, dreary room with heavy, antique furniture, and she had wanted this room to have a contrasting feeling. Pastel silk wallpaper lined the walls and pale blue velvet curtains lent a soft tone to the light. The pictures on the walls were sylvan landscapes and elegant, sculpted rugs provided pools of bright colour on the polished oak floor.
Our sumptuous meal began with rich tomato soup, followed by an eye-opening variety of other courses. I watched in amazement as the family made short work of cod in oyster sauce, quenelles of duck, braised beef, roast lamb and pheasant with a vast array of vegetables. Several types of homemade bread were placed upon the table alongside pats of golden butter. When the dessert course arrived, I resisted offers of crepes, soufflés, éclairs and meringues and settled instead for an apple. I marvelled at the ability of the Jago family to stay so slim and decided that they probably needed a feast of this enormity to combat the searing misery of the climate. If I wasn’t careful, the chill air could turn me into a shawl-wearing, black pudding–eating slattern who sat by the fire and watched the clock until the next meal was announced. I whispered this prediction to Eddie as I kissed his cheek when I bade him goodnight. He threw his head back and laughed delightedly, causing Lucy to regard us both thoughtfully.
Lucy had explained that my bedroom was in exactly the position that her room had been when she first arrived at Tenebris almost thirty years earlier. She had tried to faithfully recreate the view from the castle over the gardens. All of the main bedrooms had full-length doors that opened onto wide balconies. In daylight the view had taken my breath away. Now I stood in the silver darkness, reflecting on the day’s events. The ocean demonstrated its power by roaring and screeching at the towering cliffs like an angry housewife chastising her errant husband. Mist scudded the sky with promises given then withdrawn. Dim, shrouded stars peeped shyly through splintered fragments of cloud, and the moon paraded her crimson robes of evening.
The sound of a horse’s hooves drew my attention to the narrow path that followed the cliff’s edge. Perfectly matched with the deeper shades of night, a horseman on a jet-black steed thundered toward the house. Everything about both rider and steed spoke of power and the endless destructive force of a fury that blazed out of control. The horse’s muscles rippled beneath its glossy black coat, and the man’s thighs moved in time with the galloping animal, controlling it with infinitesimal movements. The horse’s mane flew out behind as though lit from within by a whirlwind. Its hooves cleaved the air, barely touching the ground. But it was the rider who drew my attention. There was something in the set and width of those shoulders, the tilt of that proud head that was heartbreakingly familiar. I closed my eyelids briefly against the pain that flared behind them.
The unknown man reined in and glanced up at me as he drew level with the house. For an immeasurable instant, we held that look. Everything was suddenly charged and bright like the instant before a lightning storm. Then he spurred his mount on and was gone. I realised I had been holding my breath, waiting for something to happen. But what? In that instant I had a foreboding that past and present were on a collision course. That something earth-shattering was waiting to happen.
